The Aftermath
by sierendipity
Summary: A series of snap-shots of various characters just after the seventh book ends. This is about coming to terms with what happened and comforting those that were close. Some romance, some family stuff, hopefully lots of sweetness and hope. Review please!
1. Ron and Hermione

_**AN: Hopefully you enjoy this little shot about what happens just after the seventh book ends, and before the epilogue. Sorry if it was OOC, I tried to give it the somberness it required but also stay true to the characters. Reviews are loved!**_

_**Obviously the characters and history of said characters are not mine, and good thing too or I'm thinking they'd be much less successful than they currently are.**_

"I can't believe it's over," Hermione sighed, leaning her head back against the chair in Ron and Harry's old dormitories.

"Blimey, I'm glad it is," Ron sighed, and squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

Hermione watched him for a moment and smiled. Her world had turned so upside down, but Ron was still here and, though he had changed, he was still himself. Next, she turned to look at Harry and smirked. He'd fallen asleep in the same dirty clothes he'd worn for days, his glasses still on. His face was pressed into his pillow and his breathing was deep and even.

"Ron," she whispered, turning to glance at him. To her surprise, he was already staring at her.

"Hmm?" he asked, his ears turning pink. He glanced at his shoes and ran a hand uncomfortably through his hair.

As much as this reaction from Ron gave her a happy, tingly feeling, she couldn't help but flush as well. "Ah well Harry's asleep … maybe we should-" she gestured toward the dormitory door. Ron nodded and muttered some words of assent before standing and following her out.

However, as soon as she passed through the doorway, she wished she'd stayed inside. "What is it?" Ron asked as he came to a halt behind her. Then he noticed the room around them and gasped. During the time they'd spent alone in the dormitories, the Gryffindor common room had transformed into somewhat of a mourning hall. Groups of weeping students, families and friends had filled in all the sofas, love seats that were already there, as well as conjuring up some extra seating. There were even some people huddled on the floor.

Hermione bit her lip as her throat began to burn. There was something about seeing people cry that set her going as well, especially after a day like today. She didn't want to cry though. She wanted nothing more than to find somewhere that seemed the slightest bit familiar in this castle she used to call home and stay there with Ron and no one else. Maybe if she was there long enough, she could forget that everything had changed.

"C'mon," Ron suddenly whispered, and grabbing her elbow, gently guided her across, around and between the sea of mourners. There was Dean Thomas, awkwardly patting a sobbing Dennis Creevey on the back, silent tears dripping down his own face. Romilda Vane was there as well, her face in her hands. Hermione remembered seeing Romilda's best friend, a Hufflepuff, among the dead and cringed. They walked passed Padma Patil, a Ravenclaw, with her arms around the shaking body of her sister, Parvati. Hermione thought of the lifeless body of her old rival, Lavender Brown.

Before she could help it, a tear slid down her cheek. Throughout all of sixth year, Hermione had felt nothing but bitterness, envy and spite for the girl, but they had been roommates for five years before that. She couldn't help but remember that she never had apologized for the rift that had grown between them.

Suddenly Ron's hand was sliding down her arm to grab her hand. He laced his fingers with her own and squeezed tight, as though he had read her thoughts. Glancing up at him gratefully, she wasn't surprised to see that he too had a couple of tears dripping down his nose. She dropped his hand in favor of sliding her arm around his waist in a gesture that recently had become like second nature. His arm fell around her shoulders with the same familiarity as they finally made it to the portrait hole.

Before they could push it open, however, the portrait swung towards them. Ginny stood on the other side, her face pale and drawn. Her eyes held their old determination however, as she took in her brother and her best friend with him.

"Harry?" she implored, her eyes wide with question.

"He's sleeping in our dormitories," Ron told her, a trace of his brotherly protectiveness back. "He's real tired Gin."

Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned her elbow just enough into his side that he knew it was a reprimand. "He'd want to see you more than anyone Ginny; I don't think he'll mind at all if you wake him," she told the anxious red head, ignoring Ron's displeased grunt from beside her. Ginny shot her a grateful smile, and, with a look of trepidation at the sorrowful sight that used to be their common room, made her way across it.

Ron and Hermione continued their way into the hall. The sight there was no more comforting than the common room. Tapestries, shattered glass, dead plants, broken wood and bloodstains littered the immediate area, and, Hermione had a feeling, the area beyond. Paintings were slashed, and the homeless people left without a frame were grouped in neighboring pictures. The Fat lady's group of drunken friends were sleeping around a landscape of what looked to be miles of prairie grass.

"Reparo," Ron's voice suddenly cut through the silence, and Hermione glanced over to see him pointing his wand at the nearest window. The glass that had been in pieces on the ground flew up to the window and magically restored itself.

"Oh, right, good idea Ron," Hermione murmured, and pulled out her own wand.

"It's been known to happen," Ron smirked back at her, but without any real defense. She smiled back, warmly, and recognized it as his trying to fall back into their old routine. Maybe it would take some time, but she knew that they both wanted it to be possible.

"Mm … on some rare occasions that I can recall," she shrugged, and turned away to return a tapestry to its rightful position with a smile on her face.

"Such as that time I reminded you that you could conjure a fire _without_ wood?" he retorted from behind her, still waving his wand around them. She saw him clear a stairwell of a splatter of blood out of the corner of her eye.

"I was nervous! Not to mention, I was only a first year. Honestly," she snapped haughtily, but she was having trouble keeping the grin off of her face. Spinning around to face him, she was just in time to see him roll his eyes before shoving his wand in his pocket, stepping forward, and yanking her forward to press his lips to hers.

Despite the heated moment and spontaneity of the kiss, it was everything slow, gentle and sweet. One of her hands pressed flat against his chest, and the other reached up to thread through his hair. He had one hand gently caressing her cheek and jaw while the other tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

He pulled away far too quickly, but only to squeeze her tightly against his chest. He buried his head in her hair, his chin resting just above her forehead.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, Hermione closed her eyes and relished in the utter warmth and comfort that radiated from Ron, and the heart beat that she could feel under her cheek.

"I am so glad you're all right," he murmured against her hair, and she could hear in the way that his words quivered that he was nervous to be saying it. Even after they'd kissed twice now, quite shamelessly in fact, he still had a hard time admitting how he felt to her.

The thought made her grow even fonder of him, and as she thought about his words, and how easily one of them could have gone forever, she understood just what he meant. Leaning up a little, she pressed her mouth timidly to his jaw. She felt his pulse quicken and smiled to herself. "Me too Ron," she whispered, and sighed as his mouth found hers again.


	2. Harry and Ginny

_**AN: Well all, here's the next installment. This one is (obviously) Harry and Ginny, and I might do more with some other couples, but I guess your reviews will just have to determine that :) Thanks very much for reading and even more if you review!**_

_**None of the characters, settings, or past history belong to me. I'm pretty sure it's why they call it "fanfiction." **_

Ginny glanced behind her as Ron and Hermione passed through the portrait hole. By the look of their arms around each other, it would seem that they had finally worked things out. It felt like forever ago that she and Harry had the same assurance.

Nervously, she bit her lip, wondering if going to Harry now was really a good idea. She could only guess that he was totally exhausted, and might just be annoyed with her if she bothered him. Either way, she'd better make a decision quick. She didn't know how much longer she could stand to be in the same room with so many crying people. She hated tears with a passion. It made her uncomfortable when she cried, and even more uncomfortable when others did.

However, if there was anything good about the scene at hand it was the incredible bond that linked them all. There were parents, friends, teachers and students of all houses crowded in the Gryffindor common room. Still, this wasn't exactly Ginny's preferred method of communal bonding. It was a relief to finally reach the boy's staircase and start up them, even as nervous as she was about confronting Harry.

"Muffliato," she mumbled, pointing at the room behind her. It was too nerve-wracking to have the echoes of people weeping follow her out of the room.

She reached the _Seventh Year Boys_ sign and hesitantly reached out to knock. But then, if Harry really was asleep, that might just annoy him. Maybe he'd want her to wait until he was good and ready to wake up.

"Why is this so difficult?" she snapped under her breath, and finally reached out to turn the knob. The door swung inward without a creak, something she was grateful for. There was nothing like a creaking door to unnerve a person.

In the room beyond, she was surprised to see Harry standing at the window, his back to her. Though this simplified the issue of whether or not to wake him, it also made having to speak to him, and bring up the issue at hand, that much more immediate.

However, she obviously needn't have worried. The door was either quiet enough that he hadn't heard her come in, or he was just too distracted to notice. Either way, he didn't seem to be aware of her presence at all.

So, rather than bring up the potentially very painful topic she'd come here address, she took the coward's way out and stayed silent. It wasn't for lack of something to do – she was quite content with the ample opportunity to scrutinize this boy – or man now, she supposed, that she'd fancied since she was ten.

His hair was even messier than usual. It stuck out all over at the funniest angles as though he'd repeatedly run his hands through it, or, she thought wryly, as though he'd just taken on the most powerful dark wizard in history. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

The shirt he was wearing was wrinkled, torn, stained, and obviously had been slept in several times. There was a particular dark spot on the back of his sleeve that she cringed to think might be blood. The trousers he wore were no better.

Suddenly, mid reverie, he turned to face her. His hand was clenched around his wand. The fact that he didn't have it raised convinced her that she must not breathe or walk too much like a villain.

Harry's facial expression transformed into one of surprise, but she couldn't tell if she was a pleasant surprise or not.

"Ginny," he greeted, looking her up and down. Though he stared at her, he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Harry," she replied as calmly as she could. It was strange to have him looking at her like he was. He was scanning her up and down, but not as though he were ogling her, or admiring her figure. It seemed more desperate, a look of immense relief.

When she said his name, however, his gaze snapped up to meet hers.

"I thought you were asleep," she said finally when none of the words she'd been planning to say would come away from her tongue.

"I'm not," he replied obviously, then cleared his throat when she smirked at him. "I mean, I wanted Hermione and Ron to think that so they could leave."

Ginny blushed and recoiled. "Oh, er, sorry then," she mumbled, turning to go.

"No, Ginny, that's not what I meant!" Harry exclaimed from behind her, "I meant so they could … er … you know what I mean?"

Though she was skeptical, his words got her to turn back around. "Not really," she replied, with eyebrows raised.

"Well ..." he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even straighter. "So they could be alone." His voice had digressed to a near whisper by this point, and his face had turned bright red.

Ginny's smile was instantaneous as she took in the sheer discomfiture of the boy standing in front of her. "And you couldn't have just told me that in the first place?" she asked, stepping a bit closer. She achieved the desired effect – Harry gulped nervously.

"I guess I could've, yeah," he shrugged. Even though she could tell he felt awkward, he was meeting her gaze steadily, "But anyway, did you need something?"

"What?"

"Well you came up here for something, right?"

It was Ginny's turn to blush now, and she knew by virtue of her hair color that she probably looked a fair bit redder than Harry had. Even now she couldn't believe how awkward this was turning out to be. Since when had confronting Harry ever been awkward for her? Not since about third year, that's when!

"Yeah, but at the moment, I'm thinking it can wait. You need your rest," she finally insisted, but made no move to leave, or to break his stare.

"Not that badly," he retorted, "You should come in. You can sit on the bed if you like, or, ya know, one of the others or on the chair or-"

Without another word, Ginny crossed over to Ron's bed and plopped down on it, then cupped her face in both hands. Harry followed suit, but sat on his own, and looked at her again. They sat in silence for a bit, before Ginny, finally, realizing how ridiculous this all was, took in a big breath and stated,

"Well you killed Voldemort."

Harry blinked. "Yeah. I guess I did."

He didn't seem to be getting her implication. Not that it was any wonder – it was pretty vague as far as implications went.

"Which means your whole mission is done with," she prodded, her eyes begging him to understand without making her say the words.

"Thank Merlin," he nodded, obviously not comprehending in the least.

"Right … er, Merlin," Ginny grimaced, then, "So what are your plans now? What lies ahead for the boy who lived?"

He looked a little taken aback by this question, then his gaze fixated to a spot above her shoulder. He appeared to be thinking very deeply before finally replying, "I hadn't really thought that far, t'be honest."

It was so strange to Ginny that Voldemort had been, to her, a sort of obstacle in the brilliant future she had all planned out. He'd been the one thing there that she preferred to forget, more often than not. Of course, during the last year that was near impossible, but even then, the hope of life beyond Hogwarts and all it would entail for her had always been in her head somewhere. She was only now realizing that to Harry, Voldemort was not an obstacle to his future. Voldemort, and defeating him, _was _Harry's future.

"Maybe you 'ought to take a break," she finally said.

Harry looked up at her and smiled. "I reckon that living life without my impending doom hanging over my head will be break enough."

"What, Trewlaney finally got to you?" Ginny grinned, choosing to disregard the, until recently, obviously more serious and pressing doom he was actually referring to.

"Definitely. What could be scarier than a grim?"

"And you always did have a short life line," Ginny nodded her somber assent, gesturing to the hands he had folded in his lap.

"Guess that's it for me then," Harry sighed, and shrugged his shoulders resignedly, "But what about you, Gin?" his tone grew serious, and the laughter left his eyes as he met Ginny's own with real question.

"What _about_ me?"

"You know what I mean. What're your plans now that Voldemort's gone?'

"I guess that depends on whether you mean immediate or in the future," she replied, getting a little breathless at the boldness of his stare. Merlin, but she loved those eyes.

"Immediate, for starters."

Her breath caught in her throat. This was it. Whether she was ready or not, Harry had just thrown the opportunity in her lap to bring up what had brought her across the broken castle in the first place.

"And I guess _that_ depends on you," she finally whispered. As much as she longed to look away, she forced herself to meet the eyes piercing her own and, it seemed, straight to her soul.

"How so?" asked Harry calmly. If she didn't know him so well, she probably would have missed the quiver in his words.

This game, these mind tricks were grating on her, and her last reserve disappeared in an instant of determination. "Well if there _was_ some veela that you met, I'd really rather know about it now," she finally told him. Harry's eyebrows raised, and a small smile started.

"There weren't," he told her, shrugging, "and even if there had been, veela, frankly, terrify me." He stood up and, as though it were some sort of cue, she did the same.

"Good thing, too," she told him, wiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm not complaining," he assured her. In one more step they'd be touching. For some reason they stopped, hesitated for just a second.

"I missed you Ginny."

The simple statement seemed to act as a sort of spark to them both. In the next moment, they had grabbed each other and simultaneously closed the distance between their mouths. They were flush with each other, but wanted to be closer. Harry backed Ginny against the window sill until she was sitting on it, her legs on either side of him.

"Ya know," he gasped, pulling back a little to look at her face. He couldn't help but notice how pretty she was with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, "I'd find it rather brilliant if I could be a part of those immediate plans of yours," he told her, resting his forehead on hers, "And I wouldn't much mind if the same was true for the future ones either."

"Wellll," Ginny pretended to consider, "I dunno, that elf you've got is pretty cute."

"Kreacher?" Harry grimaced, pulling back and making a revolted face.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," she reprimanded him.

"Then I must be a very biased beholder, because I have never met a veela who can hold a candle to you," Harry told her, gazing into her eyes like a pleading puppy.

"Brown nosing will never get you anywhere," she informed him haughtily, smiling all the while.

"Aw well," he shrugged, and began placing soft kisses across across her jaw. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

"On the other hand," she whispered, "That just might."

Harry pulled away so that he could laugh out loud at her, which felt so amazingly good after months with hardly a smile, that he didn't want to stop. Of course, Ginny started up as well, and they continued, well past the time they actually found the situation humorous. Mostly, they just kept laughing because it's so very hard to be unhappy when you laugh.

And honestly, on a day like that, it was so very hard to be happy in the first place, so clinging to that emotion seemed like a pretty good idea.

When they had finished, Harry didn't waste any time in pulling Ginny back to him. And whereas once his kisses had served to help her forget, whether it had been her upcoming exams or his upcoming departure, this one did the opposite.

Every second that Ginny Weasley was kissing Harry Potter this time, she remembered. Laced through these kisses was warmth that rang of long ago fires in the common room and a summer breeze wafting through her window one sunny July afternoon. There was a desperation there that was reminiscent of the months they'd spent away from each other, and passion that rivaled that of so many careless kisses leaned up against a tree, or next to the shore of the Black lake.

The moment was also tinged with a deep sadness, but also ecstatic victory that brought unwillingly into her mind the events of the day. It seemed as though years had passed since she had stared in horror at Harry's lifeless body. The unadulterated joy that she'd felt as he'd disappeared and returned to fight Voldemort, however, did not change the fact that the majority of the lifeless forms she'd seen today were not tricking her, though that would be just like Fred to do.

They pulled away from each other to catch another breath. Ginny stared at Harry then, and thought of how the relief of his triumph, not necessarily for all of wizardkind, but simply because it meant that Voldemort was the one who had to die, not Harry, was an emotion she'd never felt so powerfully before. She thought about how his green eyes had changed so much since the timid confusion she'd seen in him as an eleven year old. As of right now, his eyes looked as though they had seen enough sorrow and misery for a lifetime. They held deeper understanding, and as they stared hungrily back at her, she noticed that they were mirroring her emotions.

"Harry I think I love you," she finally told him, and didn't even have the decency to blush. His eyes widened, but his arms stayed firmly around her.

"I didn't mean for you to take that the wrong way," she amended, "I mean, I don't know if we're old enough, or mature enough to 'fall in love' and maybe we're still young and stupid and reckless, but I love you, in at least ..." she paused for a moment and began ticking things off on her fingers, "three different ways," she finally nodded, and looked back at his eyes.

He was smirking again, but this time it wasn't full of ,much irony. He was beaming, and though Ginny could tell he was planning on teasing her, she could also see that he was genuinely happy.

"You know Ginny, I love you in at least four," he finally told her, then pressed her head gently into his chest.

At that moment, arms and legs wrapped around Harry, his own arms holding her tightly, she couldn't believe she'd really gone over a year without this. She couldn't think of anything better than being with Harry for at _least_ the foreseeable future.

Today her heart and her strength had broken fifty times over. There was still a deep, hollow hole in the middle of her chest that she had a feeling wouldn't be disappearing for a long time. This day was one that was going to take time to move on from. And to Ginny, nothing seemed like a better start.

_**AN #2: Wow people, sorry that dragged on for so long! It's like I couldn't find a good stopping place, so I had to start on the ponderous musings to bide my time until I could drop the scene without cutting the characters off. Hope you don't mind too much, and reviews, as always, are so immensely appreciated. **_


	3. Percy and Arthur

_**Hello all! I'm back, but this time I wanted to try and breech the emotional side of the seventh Harry Potter that doesn't have to do with any couple because, as much as I truly adore the ships that JK Rowling has craftily arranged for us, some of my favorite "ships" are not romantic, and are brother to brother, friend to friend. So here goes. **_

Arthur's eyes were burning, but not from tears. They were burning from a lack of blinking. His eyes were wide, staring straight ahead, about a foot above the body of his son. He stood there in the shadows, unable to move an inch, unable to process anything, or speak to anyone.

In the back of his mind, Arthur could hear his wife, his beautiful, hotheaded, unbelievably unmovable Molly. She was sobbing, and her tears reverberated through the great hall. She was clinging to, surprisingly, their daughter-in-law, Fleur, who had begun the embrace in the first place. Fleur had slid on the bench next to Molly, and had immediately buried her head in Molly's stomach. After that, both women had broken down, and Bill had left to keep cleaning up the castle.

There were so many things he never said to his group of boys, and girl. He thanked whatever higher power might be out there that the rest of them were reasonably unharmed. Alive was good enough for him – even George, with that eerie, gaping hole in his head, Bill, with the scars etched gruesomely across his body, Ginny, who had survived a school year of literal torture and ridicule, Ron, Percy, Charlie – all alive.

"Doesn't matter though," he suddenly spoke out loud, but the sound of his voice alarmed him as it scratched its way from his throat. Still though, he continued. "We have seven children Fred. Seven. I hardly saw any of them this past year, but I have never been more proud ..." his voice trailed off, as the tears finally came. Something about speaking always pushed Arthur over the edge of emotion.

"Dad."

Arthur snapped out of his reverie at the sound of Bill's voice, and was surprised to find Percy there instead. It only took him a moment to realize that the only difference between their voices had always been Percy's tone of superiority. There wasn't even a hint of it now.

"Percy," Arthur nodded, and he couldn't help but eye this boy with pride – and with relief. He was safe. And he was back, finally fighting _with _his parents.

Percy stood there pathetically, looking defeated and at a total loss for words. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered, and his voice cracked. "To Mum, to everyone but … especially to you."

"It's behind us, son," Arthur replied, and there wasn't a hint of irony in his words. Percy was his son. And he'd already lost enough of them.

"No – dad – I need you to know," Percy insisted, and stepped forward a little, determined to say what he came to say. "I am proud to be your son. And all those times, in the ministry, I heard what you did, and how you protected so many muggles, and every time we came face to face, I wished I could have told you that I admire you, I always have. I have been the most awful son, and it doesn't seem like it -"

Arthur pulled him into a hug then, and held onto him, held onto his found son, only a few feet away from his lost one. He didn't thank him, or say anything, they just held onto each other and cried. Arthur's tears were silent. Percy sobbed as loudly as his mother. He cried loud enough that eventually, George found them there, and Percy relinquished his hold on his father to hold onto George, his brother with the ear he hadn't been around to see go.

Then came Bill, holding the hand of his wife that wasn't clutched around his mother, who followed them. All of them were crying, or squeezing, or both. It was quite a crowd. Over the heads, Arthur's eyes met his third son's, and it seemed for just a moment as though the day had brought more wins than it had losses.

_**Ah – not my favorite … A little too flowery and overdramatic I suppose. Well, please review and tell me what you think, regardless. Thanks :)**_


	4. Charlie and Arianna

_**Here we go – lovers once more. And let me just say, if you're going to read this, or any post-fics about Harry Potter, I would recommend rereading at least the last chapter before the epilogue of the seventh book. I've read it hundreds of times, and every single time it gets me, and every single fic means the world more. Reviews are greatly appreciated!**_

__Charlie stared at the crowd of red heads that was his family, clustered around the body of his baby brother. Fred – Fred who he loved, Fred who's body was so much scarier than any dragon could ever be. However, Fred's body was not the one that his mind could not move away from, nor could his eyes move towards it. Hers.

Arianna Bletchley was lying, eyes closed and as good as forgotten on a cot. She was dead. Of course, Charlie hadn't exactly expected any of her family members to come and pay their respects. Her younger brothers, Miles and Robby Bletchley, were just about as Slytherin as they came. And from what she'd told him over the years, the rest of her family followed the same mold.

He remembered their first year in Hogwarts together – it seemed so long ago. It _was_ so long ago.

She had walked through the compartments of the Hogwarts Express with a distinct lack of trepidation for the first year she was. Charlie noticed that immediately about her, since it was the exact attitude he hoped to pull off. Of course, he had been sitting next to Bill, which was somewhat of a confidence booster, but as far as he could tell, this petite brunette girl saw no familiar faces.

When she'd slid open the door, she did so with a smile. "Hello, I'm Arianna, and I'd tell you my last name, but I already know yours, and I don't think your family likes mine very much. But _I _want to be in Gryffindor."

Charlie had liked her that moment, or enjoyed having her as an exploding snap partner anyway. Bill had laughed with them for a few moments, but obviously had more important things to do like locate the girl he was currently fawning over. In the time he was gone, Arianna lost both eyebrows, and the hair above Charlie's forehead smelled of burnt carpet.

During the sorting – she had been almost first, since she was sorted with the other B names – Charlie was relieved to hear that she was in Gryffindor. He was sure that he would be too, since Bill had told him all about what it took to be a Gryffindor. Charlie was sure that he had it in him, since he'd been practicing all of the needed tendencies for the whole summer before.

In their second years, when they both made it on the Quidditch team together, Charlie as the seeker and Arianna as a chaser, their friendship had been even stronger. And during their fifth year, when Charlie became the Quidditch Captain and Arianna became a prefect, they began to discuss plans after Hogwarts. Not romantic, of course – in fact, both of them were going steady with other people at that point. No, they were looking for adventure, excitement and, in Arianna's case, escape.

During their O.W.L.'s, the duo learned about dragon keeping. The word "dragon" was enough to hook Charlie, and he immediately grilled the instructor for more information. Arianna, on the other hand, was more interested when she heard "Romania," and "far away from here," and didn't bother to get more information. She already knew that it was what she wanted to do.

As seventh year began, and the two were using all of their extra time to learn more about dragons, Charlie became fascinated with the strange way her hair shined gold in candlelight, and the way her eyes were green one day, and honey the next. He thought of asking her out, but figured that, until they were dragon extraordinaires together, he didn't want to damage the relationship they already had.

A year later found them the only two members of their particular dragon sector that had come straight from Hogwarts. The others were either older, or foreign, so their friendship grew even stronger. When Arianna began dating an Australian man specializing in Antipodean Opaleyes, Charlie was the one who discovered his secret affair with the Peruvian Vipertooth specialist two sectors over.

Once that fiasco was over, and to his utter disappointment, Arianna insisted to Charlie that she was through with relationships for good.

"After all," she reasoned to him, one day in the resource center, "I've never met a man quite as beautiful as a dragon."

Well, Charlie didn't know about being more beautiful, but he certainly knew that he was probably better in a relationship than a dragon was. So, right then and there, he let his brain stop working and argued,

"Well yes, but you've also never dated a man that's me."

She stared at him, puzzled by this confusing little revelation of his. Of course she'd never dated a man that was Charlie – somehow, though, she seemed to understand, because she smiled the sweetest smile at him then, one that he would later come to know as his own, and took hold of his hand under the table.

Their relationship progressed slowly, but almost as naturally as their friendship had. He actually preferred it that way. In Romania, when everything was fast, dangerous, and just moments away from out of control, having a beautiful partner that, when she winked still gave him butterflies, and who he was still slightly intimidated by when he would timidly grope for her hand, was something he wouldn't have traded for the world.

Only a few months after that, Charlie received word that a group of their old friends from Hogwarts were going to be in Romania, and wanted to visit he and Arianna. Next came the letter from Ron asking if Charlie might want a Norwegian Ridgeback.

Charlie remembered clearly how Arianna had been nearly hopping with excitement. "A new dragon, and oh I can't wait to see the old lot. Remember how we would come up with ways to see Laryssa scream? Or how Jensen was always the one that could get McGonagall to cancel extra homework so we could practice?"

He was excited too, until, along with a dragon and some of his best friends, there was Jordan Sloper, Arianna's old flame from high school. He'd noticed how flustered she appeared when he arrived, but didn't say anything for fear of ruining the reunion with the others. However, as the week drew to a close, and Jordan and Arianna were laughing together more and more, Charlie couldn't help but bristle every time he saw them together.

Since neither he nor Arianna had ever vocalized their newfound relationship, he knew that he didn't technically hold any sway over her romantic decisions. Still, one day as they retired to separate rooms in their tent, she caught him muttering something about Jordan Sloper's overinflated ego.

"Hmm?" she asked him, grinning, "Did you notice that his head is going to explode as well?"

He gazed back at her, awe-struck at what she was saying. "You mean -" he started, hardly daring to hope, "You don't fancy him?"

When she snorted at him, acting as though he were inferior for even having the idea, Charlie didn't mind much at all.

"Fancy that prat? Honestly Charlie, I have better taste than that. Did you honestly think...?"

He knew that the confirmation to her words lay in his heated face and bashful expression.

"Were you at all … _jealous_?" she asked incredulously, with a huge smirk plastered all over her face.

"Should I be?" he countered like a child, but he was smiling too now.

"Nah – Charlie, if you want Sloper, you can have him. He's not my type." she winked at him, and Charlie kissed her then for the first time. Arianna responded immediately and enthusiastically, but when she kept pulling away to tease him in a whisper, he finally had to growl, "Merlin Bletchley, shut up!"

However, once the year was through, and both of them had proved their worth as dragon keepers, they were more frequently called on traveling assignments away from each other. Some lasted for several weeks, some for several months, but they always ended back in each others' arms.

They went together to the Triwizard Tournament, and Molly, Charlie's mum, and Arianna seemed to hit it off. As Charlie's mother gave him suggestive glance after glance, Charlie began to let himself picture a life spent with Arianna.

Still, he was only 22, and she was only 21, so it wasn't as though he could seriously consider marriage with her. Their relationship continued its slow progression, until, by the time he was 25, they both assumed that they would eventually end up married.

The world, by that point, was getting scarier, but Charlie managed to forget about it to a point, far away in Romania with his lovely Ari laughing and working with those beautiful dragons by his side.

Then came his brother's wedding. He wasn't actually leaving Arianna this time, since she was away on a transfer in Peru for the moment. But once the wedding party was interrupted in that awful shower of chaos, once Charlie had to reckon for the first time against the powerful Death Eaters – against those trying to harm and kill his baby sister, his mum and dad, and all of his other siblings, he knew that it was finally time to grow up and come back home.

He prolonged it as long as he could, of course, once he returned to Romania. But once Arianna returned, and he told her about what was happening, he was thrilled to hear that she was going to come home with him.

"My family is probably a large portion of the damage," she told him sadly, "And if I can reverse that in any way, I'm going to."

They rented a room above a small pub near Fred and George's joke shop. The four, and occasionally some of the twins' old friends, often got together to laugh, plan, talk, or record Potterwatch. However, the heavy feeling was ever present, that at any time, one of them could be hurt or killed.

When Charlie and Arianna had visited Fred and George one day, only to find the apartment empty and a short note scrawled -

_We're off to Hogwarts for a grand adventure! Harry's back and we're going to fight – if you care to join us, look for the giant castle that no one but you can see. Cheerio!_

_ -Gred and Feorge. _

It took barely a moment for Charlie and Arianna to agree, then they both turned on the spot and appeared in Hogsmeade. Charlie, having no idea of where to go or what to do, sent his patronus into the school. He was relieved when Bill's returned, saying, in a strange, echo-ey voice,

"In the Hogshead, there is a painting, behind the painting, you will find a path. Follow it, and you will find us."

The two hustled to find it, and were shocked to see that the Hogshead was packed with students, teachers, and who knows who else, all going or coming to or from Hogwarts. Charlie noticed that most of those leaving gathered in other pubs or shops nearby. However, the shops were unattended, as the Hogsmeade shopkeepers rushed to play their part in the great war.

"Come on," Charlie muttered, grabbing Arianna's hand, and getting ready to push through the crowd of people.

Arianna, however, was frozen in shock as she stared in one of the pub windows. She could see Miles, and her younger brother, Robby, grinning in excitement. It was obvious what side they were rooting for.

She glanced up at Charlie with new determination in her eyes. "Yes, let's," she agreed, reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, and then followed him until they reached a strange room that they assumed was some part of Hogwarts.

"Charlie!" Ginny had screeched, rushing over to give her brother a hug, "Oh, hello Arianna, nice of you both to stop by," she was obviously teasing.

"Hey Gin, where is everyone?" Charlie had asked her, and she directed him towards the fighting. Just as he was about to disappear, he turned back and insisted that his little sister who was now too tall for his liking stay in that room.

He and Arianna darted out, running past duel after duel, helping wherever they could. Suddenly, with a jolt, Charlie noticed a redheaded, oh so familiar figure, crouching and sobbing next to a tapestry.

"Perce!" he cried, and he couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face. If Percy was here, fighting with them, then everything, all of their differences might be behind them.

Percy barely twitched at his name, only continued to sob, clutching a form beneath him.

As Charlie and Arianna got closer, Charlie realized with a sickening thud in his gut who's form it was.

"No, NO!" he shouted, and yanked his brother off of his other, to stare into the empty face of Fred.

"Who?" he snarled, "Who did it? I'll kill them!"

Percy shook his head, and buried his face once more in Fred's shirt.

Arianna grabbed his arm, looking pained, and spun him around to face her. "Charlie – we have to go. It doesn't matter which one of them cast the blow – they're all evil. It will be a tribute to him to fight any of them. To defeat any of them."

His eyes full to the brim with tears, Charlie stared at this woman and realized the words neither of them had ever uttered.

"I love you Arianna."

She smiled and nodded, her own eyes filling with tears, before they ran off into the bedlam, wands raised, both shouting barely discernible curses, taking down hooded members of Voldemort's army as they ran.

They were overtaken by two Death Eaters, and began dueling, dodging, weaving, turning. Their skills against dragons came in handy here – they were both used to an awry foot crashing down near them or a burst of fire, and their reflexes were honed to near perfection.

Too late, however, Charlie noticed a wand raised behind them, a hooded man about to curse, cowardly, his beautiful Arianna's unattended back.

"NO YOU BAS-" he started, but his shout was cut off by Arianna's form falling to the ground with a thud.

With a cry of anger, his wand blasted the two they had been dueling off their feet, and into the wall, unconscious.

He turned to meet Arianna's attacker, and was shocked to see Arianna's face, but in the form of an older man. The despicable creature stood, gaping, at the girl's form he had, only moments before, knocked, dead, to the ground.

"Ari?" Charlie saw him mouth, and with disgust and fury, he realized that Arianna's attacker, for he could not think the word killer, was, indeed, her father.

"Bletchley, you scum," Charlie snarled, and in a moment, father and daughter were resting, unmoving, on the ground together.

Now, what seemed like hours later, Charlie stood at the foot of this lonely cot, staring blankly at the face of Arianna Bletchley, Gryffindor hero, daughter of a Death Eater. He ran over the events leading up to this moment with some fondness, but more pain.

He stooped over her frame, only to feel a rustle beneath him.

Touching her torso, he found a folded, crumpled piece of paper, and noted that it was one that Arianna had been working on earlier that week. Unfolding it, he realized that it was a rejection letter from her, to their boss. She was preparing to turn down a permanent, well paid, and high up position in China. The position offered had been every dragonologists' dream on their entire team.

He realized that had she accepted, she would have had to have left a week before. Instead, she had followed him to fight. Instead, she had given her life. His tears had begun to slip down his nose and onto her still body. "Goodbye, Arianna Bletchley," he choked, and picked himself up to rejoin his family.


	5. Andromeda and Teddy

_**My lovely readers, few in numbers though you may be, I just want to say that I honestly had no intention of this carrying on for as long as it did. Also, I just want to promise that though my next few pieces will be sad, naturally, they will also be much more cheery as I have exhausted my emotional effort with these last three. Thanks for the read, please review! :)**_

Andromeda had no idea how much time had passed since she'd heard the door slam from her room, and had sprinted downstairs to find only Teddy asleep in his crib, and no Dora. Searching further, she discovered a hastily scrawled note on the counter top.

_Couldn't wait. Had to know what was going on. I'm sorry – please stay with Teddy and keep him and yourself safe until we can get word back to you. Love you lots, Dora._

The time sitting in silence since then had been too lonely, and too easily occupied with the unpleasant thoughts that led to either tears or hysterics by the end of a few moments. Finally, she could stand the solitude no longer.

Marching over to Teddy's sleeping form, she knew it was selfish and immature to wake him based on her own desire for company, but he had slept for a long time already that day, and she was going mad. She gazed down at him and her gaze softened. "Teddy," she murmured, smiling softly as his hair rippled with new colors at the sound of her voice. While he was sleeping, she noticed that his hair never stayed one color for more than a second or two.

"My sweet pasty, wake up." She began squeezing his feet softly, and then his hands, and finally started to poke his stomach gently when this didn't work. As a last resort, she began to tickle his soft toes like she knew generally got him every time.

His soft lips turned up, and his toes curled, but he remained stubbornly unconscious.

"Now now Teddy," Andromeda chided him fondly, forgetting to feel foolish for talking to an infant – a sleeping one, no less. "Grammy needs to see those marvelous eyes of yeaaaaahhh!"

Shrieking and spinning around at a sudden noise, she raised her wand and pointed it directly at the weasel patronus standing before her. "Oh thank Merlin," she gasped, hand over her heart.

With a whimper preceding it, Teddy burst into screams, finally awakened by the noise she'd made. Andromeda could barely hear as the voice of Arthur Weasley told her,

"Hogwarts is ours, Voldemort is dead. The reign of terror is over at last!"

Judging by the shouts of victory she could hear from the streets, she was not the only one to have received the message. Suddenly the wails of her grandson were somewhat akin to triumphant cheering.  
>"It's over!" she laughed, and scooped him up with tears in her eyes. Finally, they weren't the sort that wracked her frame and left her feeling empty, as they had been for so many months, ever since the news of Ted.<p>

"But my beautiful child, it's over!" she repeated, and felt an overwhelming thrill of exhilaration urging her to do something frivolous and crazy. "All over, and my sweet Teddy, your mum -" she cut off as a terrifying thought hit her. _Until we get word_, Dora had said. Why had she only received a patronus message then, from Arthur Weasley of all people?

Falling silent, Andromeda thrust her wand back into her robes, grabbed the baby sling from atop the dresser, strapped it around herself with Teddy inside, and in a moment had the baby warm and close to her chest.

Stepping out of her home and far enough away that the protective enchantments had broken, Andromeda turned on the spot with a crack. She disappeared into the morning. When her feet hit the ground again, she was standing outside the gates of the Hogwarts castle.

As she made her way through the bloodied, rubble strewn hallways, Andromeda was unsurprised at the strange glances that followed her. She got that all too often these days anyway – people assuming she was her sister before looking closer. She didn't stop before reaching the great staircase, seeing with growing anxiety that large pieces of it had been gouged away. Her hand hesitated as it touched the knob to the Great Hall.

Swinging open the huge door, the first things she saw were the dozens of sleeping bodies resting on cots off to one side of the room. Others, who were awake, mulled or sat about on the other. Then, moving a step or two closer, she couldn't repress a shrill little gasp.

No one was sleeping here.

Realizing that the room was packed with dead bodies, Andromeda had to stop herself from assuming the worst. She had to discredit the sudden paranoia she felt as unreasonable. Nymphadora must be fine. Still, she couldn't help her eyes from sweeping quickly over them, feeling a dull ache when she saw those that were obviously too young to die, or familiar faces.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of pink. Bright pink.

No, no, no, no. The knowledge sliced through her, though her mind kept rambling reasons why she couldn't possibly be seeing what she was. She remembered the looks she had received in the hallways, and realized that they were not of fear that she was her sister. The strange looks had been pity. Pity for the knowledge they already had, that she did not.

Though she knew it, she refused to believe it. The very idea that her vibrant, very alive Dora could be lying on a cot amidst the dead was absolutely ludicrous.

Mindlessly, she began walking forward, each step a jerking, unnatural motion. She passed rows of cold bodies, but was focused only on one. There were no more senseless arguments in her head now. There was no mistaking the sight she was seeing.

Her expression was stiff and stony when she reached her daughter. She didn't remember beginning to breathe, but she suddenly realized that the strange gasps she could hear were coming from her own mouth, and her chest was heaving.

She needed to move, do anything, when a sharp wail from the all but forgotten Teddy jerked her harshly back to reality. And suddenly, sobs were drowning out the baby's, and this time she knew they were her own. Clutching the warm bundle that was the only true family she had left, she collapsed in a heaving mass onto the lifeless body of Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, Auror, Member of the Order of the Pheonix, wife of Remus Lupin, mother of Teddy Lupin, though right now, only the baby girl of Ted and Andromeda Tonks.

"Shh, my baby, my sweet, sweet baby," she gasped, rocking and grasping for a cold, stiff hand with one of her own, and a warm, fisting one with the other. Mother and child, mother and child. "Oh my baby, it will all be all right." This time the words weren't directed at Teddy.

Then she stopped speaking, because it was hurting her chest, and it was easier just to cry. These tears weren't hollowing her out, though, but burning her, trailing acid up her stomach, throat and eyes. She buried her face into her daughter's shirt. At first, she was overwhelmed with the smell of dust, and something metallic that she refused to acknowledge was blood. Then, she recognized, under the scent of war and battle, the sweet vanilla that was her Dora. Holding her now quited grandson, she closed her eyes, let herself cry, and kissed his lovely, feathery head of hair over and over again.

"I love you," she told them both, "I never have told you enough. I'm so proud of you. So proud."

She fell silent again, clutching her babies, and didn't know how long she rocked there, weeping.

Finally, when the tears had dried on her face, and left her feeling dry, hollow and stretched out, she stood with a shaky effort. Reaching down, she pulled Teddy out of the sling and into her arms. She held him facing out, so that he could see his beautiful mother, and was surprised when his hair turned a bright shade of bubblegum pink.


	6. Hannah and Neville

**AN: Good grief it has been too long! Before anything else, I want to apologize for the many typos and discrepancies in chapters previous to this one. Also, I want to thank any of you who have stayed with me for this long. It means the world. Thank you to favorites, alerts and most especially to those generous souls who take the time to click the little button and put their feedback into words. Reviews mean the world!**

The unspeakable had happened. Neville had grown into a leader. He surveyed those thronging him, watching the way they ogled the sword … and him. They regarded him with awe. Obviously, they were under the wrong impression. They thought he was some sort of hero.

Of course, Neville would be lying if he were to say that the attention wasn't welcome. It made a nice change to be gawked at for acts of heroism rather than blundering stupidity. But they had it all wrong. He hadn't done those things out of gallantry or true heroism. He did them out of necessity, anger and, as for cutting off the head of Voldemort's creepy snake, blind obedience. He could recognize that they were courageous acts and he was proud of himself, but he was no Harry, Ron, Hermione – or countless others that, in his mind, had done infinitely more.

Right now, all he wanted to do was vomit or curl up and cry like a baby. Possibly both. All he knew was that he had to get out of the great hall immediately. Standing, he mumbled some unintelligible excuse to the small crowd of students and strode out of the room, noting with a sharp pang the weeping Weasley family and the countless others sobbing over the lost.

Once he had cleared the doors, he felt his shoulders sag, no longer feeling obligated to keep up any sort of façade. Surveying the devastation before him, he realized that he didn't have anywhere to go. His stride slowed, left without purpose, as he wandered through the rubble strewn hallways that he once had called home.

"Neville."

Spinning on his heel, he blushed to see Hannah … he didn't know why he did that every time, but it embarrassed him, which made him blush more. It was a vicious cycle.

"Oh … er, hello."

She smiled sweetly – she had to know. He had acted like a bumbling idiot every time she was within ten feet of him for years. Then again, when hadn't he been a bumbling idiot?

"Is something the matter?"

Aside from being the prettiest, funniest girl Neville had ever known, Hannah happened to be the kindest as well.

"I … er … yes, I reckon so."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Haven't decided yet?"

"Well I don't know how much of it everyone's feeling and how much is just me…"

"How much of what you're feeling?"

"Yeah."

She fell into step with him and Neville marveled at how she still smelled nice after a war. Suddenly he was paranoid, sure that he must smell like sweat and blood and general battle odors.

"Well … what are you feeling?"

His ears reddened. Something about Hannah sitting here asking him what he was feeling was too close to home. And, quite frankly, none of the other feelings were very valid anymore. He tried to remember them, though, so that he didn't seem like even more of a fool.

"I'm not a hero," he finally said.

"You didn't even give me a chance to call you one before denying it?"

He blanched. "You were going to call me a hero?"

"Of course I was. It's what you've always been."

Scoffing, he began to walk again. She kept up easily.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"'Course not. Why should I believe that? You've been there all those years – you've seen me in the DA – never getting the spells right, being more of a danger than anything – "

"If you mean a danger to the cause of …" her voice quieted the slightest bit, "_Voldemort_, then yes, you were more of a danger than anything. Than anyone. And as for the DA – Merlin Neville, you founded it in the midst of worse than the likes of Umbridge! You risked everything for that cause."

Neville gaped. Did she really think all that? Impossible – she was just being her nice, normal, Hannah self.

"You still don't see it, do you?"

Could she read his mind?

Apparently yes, because she didn't bother waiting for an answer.

"You are a hero Neville. And a blind fool if you disagree."

He knew the wonder filled stare he was shooting her way was probably a bit much, but he couldn't help it. For years he had watched this girl – missed her in sixth year, been elated to have her back for seventh and then horrified as he saw her suffer through it, over the moon as she returned to the DA but, always more than anything, in complete awe of her.

The awe was filled with solidarity that it had not been in years passed. She had become more real to him recently as they hid out together in the Room of Requirement and he learned little things like that she talked in her sleep or that she was not a morning person. Ever. Now his awe was founded on the basis of reason. The more he learned about her, the more she impressed him.

Besides, he preferred it this way – she had become more approachable and, he fancied thinking, his best friend.

"You're beautiful."

Her eyebrows shot up.

His eyes widened. How had that slipped out? Why, why, why would the Earth not open up and swallow him whole? Or let him face the snake again? Anything but this mortification.

Without another word aside from some incoherent grunts that he hoped would pass for a mumbled excuse, he spun on his heel and nearly ran away.

"Neville, wait!"

His footsteps slowed but did not stop.

"No, NO! You can't just say something like that and run away!"

"I'm not a hero! I run away!" he said under his breath, though he was not sure whether or not she heard it. He wasn't even sure for whose sake he had said it. He slowed to a mere shuffle.

"Neville. Wait, please."

She was right behind him, but he didn't turn around. He was too humiliated – it wasn't enough that he had called her beautiful right in the middle of the conversation, but he then had bolted. His face felt like it had been set on fire. If only he was good with words like Harry or good at blunt honesty like Luna. All he was good at was bumbling and blushing and over analyzing everything before remembering that the beautiful girl of his dreams was still standing there waiting for him to say something or turn around or grunt or something to acknowledge that she existed!

He chose the latter option.

_Merlin, did you just grunt?_

What on earth was he thinking?

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

He had to turn around. He had to.

She looked as puzzled as she ought to, gazing at him with confusion and some amusement.

"No, sorry – I … er, was just clearing my throat."

She nodded, smiling. "Clearing your throat so you _could_ say something?"

He shook his head. "'Fraid not."

"Then I will. Did you mean what you said back there?"

"Erm … which part? About my lack of heroism? Or that I run away? Or … or that other thing?"

"That other thing." She moved a hair closer.

He inhaled.

"Course I did. You _ar_ebeautiful. I was going to be a fair bit smoother about telling you, but if there's anything I've ever been sure of, that's it. You're the prettiest girl I know."

Her eyes widened.

"And I mean, it's more than that, Merlin, I feel like a git now. You're beautiful, but you're also kind and smart and so good at shield charms and patronuses and so strong – I don't know anyone stronger than you. You're the hero."

He trailed off into silence as she stepped even closer, her hand brushing his.

The tension was palpable, radiating between them, and he couldn't think of anything to fill it with except more jumbled words.

"You – you're the best, most heroic –"

Her fingers reached for his, and slid sweetly between them.

"You're rather beautiful yourself," she said shyly, cutting him off, and he could see that she was turning pink as well.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers. Just before their lips met, he remembered one random piece of advice from Gran.

_Never kiss a girl without permission._

He rocked backwards, leaving Hannah looking both a little alarmed and hurt.

"I – er – do you think it'd be ok if I kissed your right now?"

She laughed out loud.

"Merlin, Neville, isn't that what we were just about to do?"

He blinked once, then grinned. He'd said enough for one awkward situation. Instead, he leaned in and did what any sane bloke would do and kissed the best girl in Hogwarts. Probably the best girl in Europe. Or the world.

She tasted like a combination of coconut and something else that was entirely Hannah and new and delicious. Her arms were wrapped securely round his neck, pulling him closer. His hands were at her waist, pushing her gently backwards and towards what he thought had been the door to an empty classroom.

His tongue flicked across her lips and, before he could stop to worry about how he was supposed to be a gentleman and what his Gran might say about giving her anything but a peck for their first kiss, she opened her mouth and sighed deeply, erupting the butterflies in his gut to flames and erasing all thoughts of just about anything from his mind.

Her fingers brushed his neck, sending a delicious thrill down his spine. His knees went weak – literally, like jelly, and he stumbled forward, landing in a heap on top of Hannah Abbott, the girl he had been snogging senseless only moments before.

"Oh, Merlin, Hannah I am so sorry, I didn't mean to – "

He moved to roll off of her, but she only laughed lightly and grabbed either side of his face.

"Don't you apologize to me, Neville Longbottom. Do you know how many girls would kill to be in this very position right now?"

He flushed an even deeper crimson, but she just grinned broadly and tugged him closer.

"Not as many blokes as would kill to be in mine," he growled back (surprising even himself at the moment of suavity), and pressed his lips to hers again.

They stayed like that for a long time, snogging on the castle floor. There could have been people who passed them, who saw them like this. They didn't care. So what if someone saw them the happiest either had been in years? So what if someone caught them making the most out of the worst situation? So what if someone noticed that they were finally living a long awaited dream that had been suspended for too long in the grey limbo of the war?

So what if someone caught them living?


End file.
